


House of Memories - Legacy of a Hero

by benthe2nd



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Adorable Peter Parker, Age Regression/De-Aging, Civil War Team Iron Man, Don't Like Don't Read, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, I ain't writing pedophylic shit, I'm Sorry, M/M, Morgan Stark is NOT Tony Stark, Mutual Pining, Not A Fix-It, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Not Canon Compliant, Not Steve Friendly, Not Steve Rogers Friendly, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Pining, Please Don't Hate Me, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Precious Peter Parker, Protective Peter Parker, Slow Burn, Tags May Change, This is the closest you'll ever get to Starker from me, Tony Stark Dies, Tony doesn't get any resurrection, Underage tag is for both party, but Peter doesn't know that, if I'm feeling generous and horny then you'll get a treat, kind of, not team Cap friendly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-06-29 17:45:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15734340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/benthe2nd/pseuds/benthe2nd
Summary: "Death was coming, and there's no cheating her this time."With his dying breath, Tony Stark sends his consciousness back to home, in hope of a second chance.But his time is all used up, and his memories are now housed inside the body of his accidental son - his legacy, who refuses to see his father's hard work in shambles.But what would happen when a Spider caught him in his web?Morgan Stark does not have the time, nor the prerequisite humanity for romance, but what will he do when Peter Parker stubbornly makes himself at home in his new, barely human heart?Will Peter ever convinces Morgan that he too deserves happiness? That Morgan is human enough for him to love?Well, one thing for sure: Peter has to man up and tell Morgan that he's in love first, because Morgan sure as hell isn't going to give in to his feelings.Also with a side of team cap bashing because this is my fic, and the hallmark of my fic is the saltiness that runs deep against anything and everything Steve Rogers.





	1. The Death of a Bachelor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Both Work and Chapter Titles are from Panic! at the Disco's songs.
> 
> Inspired by Wix's amazing series - The Roles We Play
> 
> No gore, no blood, but this whole chapter is just a lenghty, angsty description of Tony's death.
> 
> I have to do this, I'm sorry.
> 
> I google translate'd the Italian sentences. I'm shameless, sue me.

“That shield doesn’t belong to you! My father made that shield!”

It was supposed to be a last ditch effort. One last cry for help? Or maybe one last dig at Steve － no, Rogers’ dignity? Tony wasn’t sure which one was the most likely truth, but he did know one thing for certain.

Death was coming, and there ’s no cheating her this time.

No friend, no betrayer, no parents-killer. Nothing and no one else that could help him out of this situation.

And even if there was… did he  _ want _  to? What else did he have to come home to? Rhodey’s not going to walk again, Pepper hated him, Happy never talked to him anymore, and the Avengers was gone and done with.

Wasn’t it pitiful that the only one that sticks with him until the very end was an A.I. that he’d made for himself? Tony wasn’t one to indulge in a pity party, but was is also very tired, and in pain, and just so  _ done _ . Done enough to see beyond the pain that maybe dying here was a blessing.

The end of the road. Game over. Eternal peace, at long last.

_ But what about the earth? What about the horror you saw beyond the portal? _

Part of him wanted nothing more than to say fuck it and go to sleep forever. End of the world wouldn’t be his problem if he’s not even in the world anymore.

Part of him wanted to slap himself for even considering it. 

Rhodey was going to be paralyzed, but he’s still alive. Pepper wasn’t going to be waiting for him to come back home, but she’s still alive. Happy talked less and less every time they met, but he’s still alive. Harley, Harley’s family, Peter and his aunt, they were all innocent people that would have to live with the consequences of a defenseless Earth. 

The Avengers was no more － literally the only member that could still fight was Vision, an android that was also in love with a psychopathic, mind-raping HYDRA barbie. His attempts to bolster Earth’s protection had all failed.

_ Well, all but one. _

Painstakingly, he raised his numb arm and, with the last bit of power left in his armor, opened a hatch in his abdominal plate. A circular device the size of Iron Man’s Arc Reactor slid out smoothly and fell into his palm.

He’d made it after the Mandarin fiasco, right before he had his surgery to remove the Reactor from his chest. It was a risky operation, and there had been a chance of him not making it out of the room alive. He’d needed a safety net of some sort, a way to make sure his legacy passed on just the way he wanted it to.

At first he thought that Harley was it: the heir that would ensure the continuation of both Iron Man’s protection and SI’s technological progress. But the more he thought about it, the more unfeasible the idea became. Harley was not the kind of guy that would want something that has been handed to him on a silver platter. He wouldn’t have wanted Tony’s tainted inheritance, because he’d want to make one of his own. In another situation, Tony would want nothing more than to watch him blossom into the man that he could be.

But Harley was the only kid that Tony could pass the torch to. He’s got no child of his own, and genius kids with no homicidal tendencies were hard to come by. In the end, he came to the conclusion that the only one that he would trust 100% with his legacy was himself.

So he made this device that he was holding.  _ Awareness Relocation Conduit _ . A.R.C..

Supposedly, this device would hack into his brain and transfer the entire content into a safe server, where it would be reassembled by the cradle that Helen loaned him for emergencies. Theoretically, he’d be born again in a body that would have his memory, personality, and emotion. The whole nine yards. 

In fact, the system that he’d later build based on the same principle, B.A.R.F., was basically a watered down version of A.R.C.. Works the same way, except with less power and less severe side effect. Said side effect being death, if his calculation is correct, and it always is. 

But isn’t that the whole point of last resort? A.R.C.’s brain hacking power is so strong that it would scramble his brain once it’s done with it’s job, but he’s going to die anyway, so what’s he got to lose? Even if the transference failed, he’s not going to be there to witness his last failure. 

The selfish part of him, the one that was begging for the sweet mercy of death, secretly hoped that it would fail.

Tony pressed the ridges around A.R.C.’s casing, making it expand into a headband of some sort. Slowly, he donned the device and turned it on. The band began to whir noisily to life.

He looked up to the ceiling, wishing that he could see the sky for one last time instead. “I wanna come home, Mamma. Won’t you come and pick me up?”

A wisp of wind, warmer than Siberian gusts, caressed his tear-streaked cheek.  _ Tesoro,  _ the wind whispered,  _ il Bambino di Mamma. _

The device whined loudly, but all he could hear was his Mamma’s crooning voice, shushing him as he bawled his eyes out. Somehow, he knew that he was failing, that he wasn’t going to wake up in New York.

He’s coming home to his Mamma. 

“ _ Mamma… sono stanco, Mamma, _ ” Tony sobbed.

_ Così coraggioso…. Solo un po 'di più, Bambino. Sto arrivando, ci sono quasi. _

“ _ Fa male! Fa male, Mamma! _ ”

_ solo un po 'di più, Antonio, solo un po 'di più. _

The A.R.C. cried in crescendo, but his own hearing was starting to fail. Slowly, the bunker’s gray concrete faded to white, and the howling in his ears vanished, leaving behind a silence and blessedly painless nothingness.

“ _ Svegliati, Bambino, è finito ora. _ ”

He opened his eyes, not even realizing that he’d closed it, and gazed on his Mamma’s eyes.

“ _ Benvenuto a casa, Antonio _ ,” she said with a smile.

For the first time in forever, Tony felt nothing but bliss and warmth. “ _ Ciao, Mamma. Mi dispiace sono in ritardo _ .”

His Mamma helped him up, and they hugged all the pain away. “ _ Sei appena in tempo, Bambino. Vieni! Tutti ti stanno aspettando. _ ”

“ _ Si, Mamma.” _

With a smile, Tony Stark left the earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation(-ish):
> 
> Mamma: you seriously wanna ask me what this means?
> 
> Tesoro, il Bambino di Mamma.: (my) treasure, Mamma's Baby.
> 
> Mamma... sono stanco, Mamma.: Mamma... I'm tired, Mamma.
> 
> Così coraggioso…. Solo un po 'di più, Bambino. Sto arrivando, ci sono quasi.: So brave.... Just a little more, Baby. I'm coming, I'm almost there
> 
> Fa male! Fa male, Mamma!: It hurts! It hurts, Mamma!
> 
> solo un po 'di più, Antonio, solo un po 'di più.: Just a little more, Antonio, just a little bit more.
> 
> Svegliati, Bambino, è finito ora.: Wake up, Baby, it's over now.
> 
> Benvenuto a casa, Antonio.: Welcome home, Antonio.
> 
> Ciao, Mamma. Mi dispiace sono in ritardo.: Hi, Mamma. I'm sorry I'm late.
> 
> Sei appena in tempo, Bambino. Vieni! Tutti ti stanno aspettando.: You're just in time, Baby. Come! Everyone is waiting for you.
> 
> Si, Mamma.: Yes, Mamma.
> 
> Thanks for the correction, Eleutheria!  
>  
> 
> There, there. It's OK. Let it all out.
> 
> If you see me over there in the corner cackling like a maniac, don't mind me.
> 
> I'm just savoring your cries of anguish and pain.
> 
>  
> 
> Ciao!


	2. Wake Me Up Before you Go-Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Wham!'s song
> 
>  
> 
> This whole chapter is literally me creating plot devices.
> 
> You know me, I like giving explanations like candies.

When he woke up, he immediately noticed three simple facts.

One, he ’s alive.

Two, Tony Stark was dead.

Three, he was not alone in his head.

_ “Boss?” _

__

_ “F.R.I.D.A.Y.?” _

__

_ “Boss, is that really you?” _

He paused. There’s so much to take in, it’s like his brain was overloading. Why was F.R.I.D.A.Y. inside his head? How was he alive when Tony Stark’s last ditch effort failed? And most importantly….

_ Who am I? _

_ “Boss? You’re scaring me…. Please, is that really you?” _

“I… － ” he said out loud before his own voice startled him to a stop.

_ Why the hell do I sound like I just got sucker punched by puberty?? _

“Yes, Boss? Please, I don’t know what to do…” the A.I. pleaded.

“I － I’m not him,” he said finally. If anything, it’s the one thing that he was sure about.

“But － ”

“I’m not him, F.R.I.D.A.Y.. I’m not Tony Stark.”

“Boss’ A.R.C. protocol － ”

“Failed. I’m sorry, F.R.I.D.A.Y., but the man you want is dead.”

The A.I. fell silent, but her presence in his mind wept loudly for her fallen creator.

_ “Who are you, then?” _  she asked in his mind, sorrow weighed heavily against his consciousness.

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “All I know is that he’s reunited with his Mamma, and that he’s happier where he is.”

_ “Was it… was he in pain?” _  she prodded hesitantly.

“He was too numb to feel the pain.”

F.R.I.D.A.Y. didn’t answer but he could hear her sad sigh in his mind.

“If it’s any consolation, he knew that you’re the only one that stayed with him until the very end.”

_ “I do try to do my job,” _  she lamented.

“At least he’s in peace now.”

“At least that.”

The room quieten once more. He could still feel F.R.I.D.A.Y. in the back of his mind, but she wasn’t paying attention to him so much as to her own grief. So he left her be, and instead focused on himself, and his own predicament.

Tony Stark’s A.R.C. failed to transfer his consciousness, that much was obvious.

Tony’s memories were impeccably intact, and he could access those memories on a whim - watching it like a movie instead of losing himself in a sense of self within the mnemonic.

Tony’s emotion was present as a knowledge, but wasn’t translated into his own. The man that could access that particular combination of hormonal balance was no longer here, so instead, he simply knew  _ how _  Tony Stark would react in a particular situation. His emotion and how he react to them was all his and no one else’s.

Tony’s personality… now that was a weird one. Psychology dictated that personality was born from the combination of DNA and personal experience. But the memories of Tony Stark that he got was just that: a dead man’s memory. It wasn’t  _ his _  personal experience, since he felt no personal attachment to them.

So nurture was out…. But his DNA should still be identical to Tony’s right?

The cradle was supposed to rebuild his body from scratch using the DNA provided by Tony Stark as the template. Hypothetically, the result should’ve been a perfect copy of Tony Stark himself - down to a molecular level. But there was a theoretical limitation to how long a person’s consciousness could be stored as binary data without losing sanity, so Tony had reluctantly added a massive amount of both extremis virus to rapidly grow the body, and nanites to stabilize the rampant virus once it’s done.

There had never been an experiment on that, so there was no telling how much his DNA has changed to accommodate such modification. Hell, he’s hearing an A.I. inside his brain right now! Was there even a DNA for that? Was he even a human?

His memories wasn’t his own, his emotion was an oddity, and his personality was a mystery.

_ What _  was he?

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.?” he asked hesitantly.

“...yes?”

“What am I?”

The A.I. didn’t answer for a long time, but after a while, she finally said, “You are Boss’ legacy.”

Legacy… that was certainly A.R.C.’s original purpose. To make sure that Tony Stark’s legacy, however tarnished and bloody, wasn’t misused by anyone unworthy. But that whole purpose hinged on the hope that the result of it all would be Tony Stark himself, not some kind of mistake that insisted on his own identity and free will.

_ “That was not what I said,” _  F.R.I.D.A.Y. told him.

_ “Then what was?” _

“ _ I said you are his legacy, not the beholder or overseer of it.” _

_ “I don’t understand.” _

__

_ “For better or worse, mistake or no mistake, you are his creation. Just like me, just like my predecessor, J.A.R.V.I.S., just like all of his Iron Man armors and all of his invention. Boss designed and made you with the hope that you would make this world a better place. You, like all of us, are his legacy.” _

Suddenly, his mind was filled with not just F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s warm presence. Tony Stark’s first A.I., Dum-E and his siblings, U and Butterfingers tripped over each other in introduction. The A.I.s made to be J.A.R.V.I.S.’s backups alongside F.R.I.D.A.Y., J.O.C.A.S.T.A and T.A.D.A.S.H.I. nudged his consciousness, dormant but curious.

He felt the presence of all of Tony Stark’s non-sapient creations: the Iron Man armors, the Arc Reactors, all manners of communication devices worldwide, even the satellite orbiting the planet, V.E.R.O.N.I.C.A..

His mind was overflowing with Tony Stark’s creations, his children, his wishes and hopes for a better future, and suddenly he found himself weeping for this man that he would never meet. The man whose life ended unfairly, and whose body still laid frozen in a HYDRA bunker in Siberia.

He might not be able to answer the question of “Who am I” just yet, but if anyone asked him what was he?

“I am Tony Stark’s legacy.”

Even without F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s silent approval, he could feel the statement warming him up from the inside. Giving him purpose and reason to exist.

From the cradle where he laid, he reached out upward with his right arm. The fingers were small, the arm thin and short. The arm of a teenager.

“How old am I? physically?”

“Calculation puts you between the age 13 to 14.”

“I expected an older body.”

“Even the cradle has it’s limit. But it’s your body, so I think you get to decide how old you really are. Within reason, of course.”

He hummed. “I just turned 14,” he decided finally.

“Would you like to make it official?”

“You mean birth certificate and stuff?”

“Yes. Birth certificate and stuff. I think it may come in handy at some point.”

He had to mull the idea over. His existence surely was an anomaly. People like Ross would’ve used him as a lab rat, while the others would keep him locked somewhere dark and cold until they find a use out of him. Tony wouldn’t want that for him, and if an identity would help keep that away from him….

“I’m gonna be Tony’s son? Like… legally his son?”

F.R.I.D.A.Y. seemed amused, even when the mention of his creator’s name brought a twinge of melancholy through her code. “I think you’re already his son in every sense of the word. He even calls… called himself “daddy” when he’s speaking with us, sometimes.”

He smiled sadly at that. “Well, I do have the face to pull it off.”

“That you do. Shall we, then?” In his mind, F.R.I.D.A.Y. produced a form of UI that blinked with lines on lines of codes.

“First act as a sentient creation: hacking multiple national archives.”

“At least we’re not malicious,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. supplied helpfully.

He snorted in response and pulled up an empty birth certificate form.  _ “Okay, name. First question and I’m already floored. What do I name myself, F.R.I.D.A.Y.?” _  he said in his mind.

_ “Anything you want, I suppose.” _

__

_ “Well, I’m not naming myself with an acronym, that’s for sure.” _

__

_ “i take offense to that.” _

__

_ “Anthony Jr.?” _  he offered.

__

The A.I. was silent for a while before she answered,  _ “I’d... rather not be reminded of our father every time I say your name.” _

__

He winced in sympathy.  _ “Oh, yeah. Sorry. Edward?” _

__

_ “Like his middle name? Perhaps, if you feel like passing on the tradition.” _

__

_ “Eh…. Not believable. Tony wouldn’t name his kid the way Howard did,” _  he dismissed the idea quickly.

__

_ “James, perhaps? Like Colonel Rhodes?” _  F.R.I.D.A.Y. tried.

__

_ “The man never even called him Jim, let alone James. Also, James Barnes - no thanks.” _

__

_ “Has Boss ever thought about child of his own? Do you have any access to memories about that?” _

Well, he certainly never thought about that. Quickly, he skimmed through Tony’s memory. For a man that was adamant about never having a child, he sure thought about it a lot. Arno, Gregory, Morgan….

Morgan.

Huh.

_ “Morgan. I think I like the sound of that,” _  he said after a while.

F.R.I.D.A.Y. sent her approval at his initiative.  _ “Middle name?” _

__

_ “Rupert.” _

__

_ “Not Rhodey?” _  the A.I. teased.

_ “Nah, I don’t think even Tony would be that obvious.” _

__

_ “Alright then. Morgan Rupert Stark. Born 24 _ _ th _ _  June, 2002, in Manhattan, New York City, at… 10:50 p.m.?” _

F.R.I.D.A.Y. was in full secretary mode, and dimly, Morgan wondered if that was how the A.I. cope with her lost.  _ “Yeah, that sounds about right,” _  he agreed.

__

_ “Mother’s name?” _

Shit.

“ _ We can always make something up,” _  she reminded helpfully.

_ “I’d rather not lie too much on these kind of stuffs. What kind of backstory are we going for here?” _

_ “The most believable by the media would be, unfortunately, illegitimate son.” _

__

_ “Too much drama. What’s next?” _

__

_ “We could ask Ms. Potts if she’s willing to put her name as your mother?” _

__

_ “They’re not together anymore. Besides, people would say Tony promoted her just because she’s his child’s mother.” _

__

_ “Well… that would leave us with surrogate mother. Should I search for a list of deceased surrogates for us to borrow?” _

__

He hesitated.  _ “That’s… kind of disturbing. Hold up, I’m supposed to be born in 2002, right?” _

__

_ “Yes, you are.” _

__

_ “I think I know someone. Tony’s first girlfriend… one of the good ones, surprisingly. Meredith McCall. I have one memory of them not-joking about her being his child’s surrogate mother. She and her husband lived in New York during the Chitauri invasion, and both didn’t make it. No other living relatives, no nosy friends… yeah, I think she’s the one.” _

__

_ “Is there any possibility of her remains being used to check your DNA?” _

__

_ “No, she’s cremated.” _

__

_ “Very well. Meredith McCall, it is. Congratulations and Happy birthday, Morgan.” _

__

_ “Thanks, Fri. Other documents we should falsify? Might as well commit all our federal crimes today,” _  he teased.

_ “Guardianship?” _

__

_ “Write a new will for Tony. Make Rhodey my legal guardian.” _

__

_ “Even though he never met you and would most likely be declared unfit for guardianship because of his injury?” _

__

_ “Shit, you’re right. If we put Pepper’s name there as well, do you think she’d agree?” _

__

_ “I think she might need some convincing from your part, Morgan.” _

__

_ “Do that, then. Push comes to shove, I’ll just disappear for 3 years.” _

F.R.I.D.A.Y. sent a vaguely disapproving sensation his way, but said nothing about it.  _ “Very well. What about your education?” _

__

_ “Well, Tony graduated high school when he was around my age…. So, maybe I should do that too?” _

__

_ “Do you think someone would use your education credentials to attack you?” _

__

_ “Ross might.” _

__

_ “Very well. I’ll arrange for a homeschooling diploma and a GED.” _

__

_ “Thanks, Fri. Anything else we should do?” _

__

_ “I think that covers the basic.” _

__

_ “Good. Now what do we do?” _

__

A wave of melancholy surged from F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s programming.  _ “I suppose now we deal with the fallout of Boss’ death.” _

Tony.

Morgan sucked in a deep breath at the reminder of his creator - his  _ father’s _  death. His demise was tragic, and would likely cause a major shift in the world that wasn’t ready to lose their defender. Unlike F.R.I.D.A.Y., however, his personal reaction wasn’t that of a grief.

Sure, he regretted the death of his father. It was a cruel, unjust death. Death by a teammate, a friend that he’d trusted, and the man that murdered his parents.

His father was killed after said teammate admitted that he’d lied for years, and only after being confronted by the irrefutable proof of the lie. Killed after the supposedly innocent murderer raised his gun when the grieving man backhanded the liar.

No, what Morgan was feeling right now wasn’t grief - there’s going to be a time and place for that later. 

Right now, he’s  _ angry _ .

Angry at Rogers, for being a sanctimonious bastard, a hypocritical murderer. Angry at Barnes, for giving him enough reason to exonerate him from the murder of Maria and Howard Stark, but not enough for the murder of their son. Angry at the rest of their posse, for bringing his father into his demise.

But most of all, angry at himself, for not being able to properly avenge his father.

As much as he hated to admit it, those criminals still had their uses. Until a new, more adequate defense system could be put in place, the Avengers  _ were _  the first and last line of defense against world ending cataclysm.

But damn it, his father  _ would _  have his justice. Sooner or later, all those who had caused his death would pay for their crime. He would not allow them to go scot-free like they had been doing when Tony was still covering for their fuck-ups.

He might be a minor with no legal power to speak of right now, but in his head was all of Tony Stark’s box of toys. His tricks, workarounds, knowledge, all the secret backdoor and contingency plans that his father had created over the past few years. He was far from a helpless little boy in an adults’ world.

In the back of his mind, Morgan felt the approval of the A.I. that has become his first and only friend in the word. Immediately, he sensed a rush of relief at the assurance that he would have an ally in her. He wouldn’t have to face this all alone.

He settled back into a more comfortable position in the cradle. For being a cutting edge medical tech, it was surprisingly comfortable.

But then, he remembered something that Tony and himself had forgotten.

No, not something. Some _ one _ .

He sat up quickly with a gasp. “Peter!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you still haven't gotten it drilled to your head: Tony is Tony, and Morgan is Morgan.
> 
> Tony is not coming back from the death, and Morgan is not his replacement.
> 
> Genetically, his template is supposed to be identical to Tony's, so appearance wise, Morgan looks just like his daddy. But that's as far as it goes. Morgan is his own person, and he is not Tony.
> 
> This fic is NOT a Starker fic. I repeat, this is NOT a starker fic.
> 
> That being said, the ship name would probably still be starker, cuz Morgan's last name is Stark.
> 
> Damnit, i didn't think this through.
> 
> By the way, Meredith McCall is from Earth-616.


	3. Dance with My Father

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title from Luther Vandross' song.
> 
>  
> 
> Posting from phone is... different.

Peter was pacing around his hotel room. It's been almost a whole day since the fight in airport, and still, there had been no words from Mr. Stark, who had been missing since then. Happy wasn't being helpful, and Peter was quickly running out of excuses to give May as to why Mr. Stark was never there every time she checked up on him. He wasn't ashamed to say that now when the adrenaline and rush from meeting (and fighting) the Avengers died down, he was very worried for Mr. Stark’s well-being.

His busted up phone rang again, and Peter felt guilty for making his Aunt check on him once every other hour like this. 

“Hi, May,” he forced his voice to sound cheerful.

“Peter, hi sweetheart…. How's Germany? You having fun?”

“Yeah, it's so beautiful here, May… wish you're here too.”

“Maybe one day, huh?” she chuckled lightheartedly, but he was waiting for her to drop the usual question. “Is Mr. Stark there now? I just watched the news, that fight looked vicious… you're okay, right, sweetheart? You weren't there when the fight broke out?”

Cold seat sweat started to dew on his forehead as he laugh nervously. “Yeah, I'm OK. But Mr. Stark still haven't returned since the fight…. I'm worried, May.”

“Aw, sweetie… he'll be fine, I'm sure. Just make sure you—”

Suddenly, Iron Man's telltale repulsor whine approached from his hotel room’s window. “May! He's here! Mr. Stark's okay!”

May laughed at his excited voice. “See? Told you he's fine. Go catch up with him, Peter. Talk to you later. Larb you.”

“Larb you too, May,” he answered as he strode across his room to open the window for Mr. Stark.

But the moment he saw Iron Man's armor, he immediately knew that something was off. 

Was he always that short in the armor?

“Uh… sir?”

The armor landed with far less grace than he usually would, and the face plate retracted back to reveal….

_ What the heck?! _

Why was a kid piloting Mr. Stark's armor?! And… why did the kid's face look so familiar?? Those big, expressive eyes, that strong but neat nose, that thick, slightly arching brows… those were all Mr. Stark's facial features. But the face that wore it was… young, smooth, and definitely somewhere around Peter's own age. Maybe even younger.

“W—who are you??”

The mystery boy stepped out of the armor, revealing himself to be almost a head shorter than him. 

“My name's Morgan. Can't stay for too long, so listen carefully, OK? Get Happy to take you back to States, tell him “homerun, pineapple pizza,” and he'll do the rest. Once you got home, stay in your apartment until you hear the news. And lay low. No swinging outside, no helping old ladies cross the street, nothing. Got it?”

“I…—” he trailed off.

“Look, I know it's sketchy as fuck, but I need you to do all that. And don't tell anyone about me just yet. Can you do it?”

The boy looked… desperate? Frantic? But Peter could see the hidden  _ something _  in his eyes. Something that looked like sadness and pain. “Where's… where's Mr. Stark?” he asked hesitantly.

Morgan froze minutely before he smoothed his face. “I’m going to get him now. Just trust me and do what I say, yeah?” He took a step back and let the armor wrap around him.

“Are you Mr. Stark’s son?” Peter blurted out before the other boy could take off from the balcony. Even from the outside, the armor looked tense and almost jittery.

“If I tell you, are you gonna snitch on me?”

“No,” he swore solemnly.

Iron Man’s glowing eyes looked at him intently, as if searching him for any trace of lie. “OK. I believe you,” he said finally to Peter’s joy.

“So… you are?”

“Let's say just say that I am. Nobody knows about me even existing, so for now that’s all that you need to know about me, okay?”

“Um… yeah. OK. I’m Peter, by the way. Peter Parker… uh, but you probably already know that?”

Some tenseness seemed to leave the armor’s body. “Yeah, I know. Safe flight, Peter. I’ll see you later.”

And with that, the armor took off and disappeared into the distance in a matter of seconds. Peter stared at his retreating figure, pleased that he managed to at least lighten Mr. Stark’s son mood a little. But as he flopped back into the massive bed in the middle of his room, he realized that he hadn’t managed to shake off the feeling that something was very,  _ very _  wrong.

Morgan flew to Siberia in almost a trance. His brief talk with Peter was refreshing, in a way. But after half an hour flight, he couldn’t keep the lethargic somberness from getting to him. The reality of him going to pick up his father’s corpse suddenly hit him in the face when the only companion he had with him was F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s ever-present existence in the back of his mind. But even the A.I. was completely silent and morose, not quite in the mood for a chat. 

Honestly, neither was he.

So he spent the whole flight to Siberia flipping through Tony’s most prized memories, trying to salvage whatever connection he could to the father that he’d never get to meet. 

Tony’s 7 th  birthday, the only one that Tony could remember Howard attended willingly. Tony’s memories with Meredith, his legal mother, Tony’s only true childhood friend. Tony’s memories of Rhodes… Rhodey? The multiple hijinks and shenanigans they got into in their youth. His memories of Jarvis, J.A.R.V.I.S., Dum-E, Yinsen, Pepper, Harley, anyone and everyone that had somehow made a special niche in the supposedly heartless billionaire’s heart.

He watched and re-watched Tony’s memory of Maria Stark. Her smiles, her voice, her songs both sung and played with the piano. He watched and fell in love with the woman that was his grandmother, the same way Tony always loved and mourned for her.

He couldn’t care less about Howard. Tony’s conflicting feeling about him was just a hair’s breadth away from Stockholm syndrome. That man was an abusive asshole that had the time for a frozen man he knew decades ago for a few years, but never had any for his own son. Howard only ever gave his son his attention every time Tony made something in the garage. And those reactions were never positive either. Always a failure, always a fuck up, never good enough. He can’t help but wonder if he could grow up with Tony as a father, how much different would he’d been from Howard. Tony knew exactly how shitty it felt like to grow up like that, and had sworn to never subjugate any of his children, if he ever had any, to the same treatment.

But that’s nothing but a pipe dream. Tony died giving “birth” to him, and he’d never get his father back. All that he's got left was all of his father’s memories and knowledge in his head, and that should’ve been enough for him.

But it's not, and he couldn't find it in him to resent himself for wanting more.

His inner musing was halted when he realized that the air temperature around him was getting much, much colder than he last remembered. He had arrived, and in less than 5 minutes he had to pick up the body of his father from the cold hard ground, and carry him back home.

It was then that he discovered that he was capable of crying.

He walked into the bunker, fighting the sense of Déjà vu that crowded his mind. He ignored the dead soldiers, but paused just long enough to hack into the computers and servers to delete all the footage and fry the tape after he back them all up in Tony’s private server.

Those would serve their use soon enough.

He walked through the bunker, eyes still leaking tears like nobody’s business. Eventually, he reached the place. Ignoring the biting wind, he walked out of the suit and dropped to his knees beside his father’s frozen body. With trembling fingers, he pried off the smoldering remain of A.R.C. from Tony’s forehead, and pulled the cold body into his chest and cradle him for the first and last time.

It took him a while to realize that the keening, choked up voice that he’d been hearing was actually his own sobbing. But when he did, he didn’t feel like stopping. It felt good to finally let himself grief properly for his father. To let himself shed tears for this man that was so cruelly murdered. Morgan pressed his forehead to his father’s frigid one, noticing the corpse’s final smile, frozen in place by the bitter Siberian wind.

“Father… Dad.”

Maybe he was imagining it, but he felt the weight of a hand on his shoulder. A strong, warm, calloused hand that his memories didn't remember ever feeling, but recognized nonetheless.

“I love you. I love you. I love you. I’ll never get to say it to you, but it’s true. I love you, Dad.”

_ “Would you mind telling him I send him my love as well, Morgan?” _

“Fri sends you her love too, Dad.”

_ “Tell him that I swear to take care of you for as long as I exist.” _

“She told me she’s going to be my personal baby sitter. Swore by it, actually. You’d be proud of how much she’d grown.”

_ “And… tell him that I hope someday when I got deleted… I’d get to meet him again, too. Wherever he is now.” _

“She’s gonna wait until the day you both can meet again. And me too. Don’t worry, Dad. We’ll take care of each other. We’re gonna make you proud of both of us. We love you, so, so much.”

_ Tesoro. Il mio bambino. _  A strong but soft baritone voice rang, unheard, yet also real all at the same time.

“ _ Ti amo, papà, _ ” he choked back into the thin air. “ _ A dopo. _ ”

_ A dopo, Bambino, Bambina. Ti amo. _

The spectral weight suddenly lifted from his shoulder, and he sagged into his father’s armored chest and wept.

“Fri, please tell me I wasn’t hallucinating?”

_ “I felt him too, Morgan. He was here. He said his goodbye, and now he’s gone.” _

“I don’t want him gone.”

_ “Me neither. But he’d want us to be happy. He’d want us to make it on our own instead of getting stuck unable to move on from him.” _

Morgan clenched tighter on his father’s body. Maybe it was just him, but he felt lighter. Freer. “Yeah. Yeah, he would.”

Friday guided the armor close, and wrapped it around his frame, a hug and an offering of protection at the same time.  _ “Let’s go home, Brother.” _

“Yeah,” he said as he hauled his father into his arms, already looking for the weapons that killed him. “Let’s go home, Sister. We have a father to bury, and the world to challenge.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italian (that I got from google translate) words translation:
> 
> Bambino/a: baby-boy/girl  
> ti amo: <3 u  
> a dopo: see you later
> 
>  
> 
> I got into a fight with my dad over some stupid stuff just before I wrote the second part. I was an emotional, sobbing mess, and my dad sounded very guilty when I called him at 1 am, crying and apologizing.
> 
> Thank you Marvel, you saved our relationship!
> 
>  
> 
> No joke. That totally happened.


	4. Nice Day... for a Funeral

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Overkill's song.
> 
> Warning for potentially substandard writing. This is definitely not my best work.

As traumatic as his time in Siberia was, Morgan couldn’t deny that it was also incredibly cathartic for both his sister and himself. Honestly, it might even be just his imagination acting up, but saying his goodbyes to whatever remnants of his father that he had been left with was good enough for him. He even felt a little selfish for getting his last words across to his dad, but not Tony ’s other loved ones.

Pepper (the remnants of Tony inside his memory cringed every time he called her Virginia) was stuck in denial. The woman had cried, begged F.R.I.D.A.Y. to tell her that she was lying. Introducing himself to the woman had been a tense affair because of that. She did say that she accepted Morgan as his own person. She’d even went as far as agreeing to be his legal guardian, and he couldn’t be any more grateful for that. But he still couldn’t shake the feeling that sometimes, when she spoke to him, it wasn’t Morgan Stark that she was talking to. And he couldn’t help but feel guilty for not being enough for her.

The tower itself had been increasingly bleak, especially with Jim (he insisted on the name… maybe “Rhodey” would be a sore spot for him now) being deep in a depressive state. Not that Morgan could blame him. He had been paralyzed, abandoned by his team, and as if that wasn’t enough, his best friend was dead before he could even wake up from the anesthesia. Not even a man as stoic and unflappable as Jim was could be expected to keep his head above the water. In the end, Jim agreed to hand off the custody to Pepper.

If it were up to Morgan, though, he’d pick gloomy over snappish. Happy (what’s with his dad and nicknames?), unfortunately, picked the later instead. He snapped at everything and everyone, including, but not limited to, the coffee machine, TVs, and cars. Morgan tried to stay out of the man’s way, but somehow that only made him angrier, thus, even snappier. Whether he was angry at Morgan or himself, however, nobody knew for sure.

It seemed like Harley was the only one that was happy to know about his existence, sort of. Everyone agreed that F.R.I.D.A.Y. was the only one close enough to the almost-17-years-old to break the news, so they left her to do the deed. They’d all expected the worst reaction out of all of them, but Harley surprised them all by taking the news with an astonishing grace.

Morgan remembered the day Harley showed up at Tony’s funeral, pale and red-eyed, but still grimly determined.

“You’re Morgan?” he’d asked quietly, to which Morgan simply nodded. “I’m Harley. Tony broke into my garage when I was 13.”

“I know,” Morgan had said in answer. “I have all his memories… I’m… I’m so sorry － ”

Harley’d cut him off with a fierce hug. “It’s both our loss, but I’m not gonna make me him worry by crying on his funeral.” Harley’s voice had cracked, and his hug tightened. As if the older boy himself had been in need of reassurance that he could make it through the day without shedding a single tear.

Morgan hadn’t been able to say anything back but a quiet ‘thank you’ to him. Silently, he’d sent his gratitude to his dad for leaving behind yet another sibling to help him along the way. A fleshed, human brother that felt grief the way he did, hormones, tears, and all.

The events after that, however, explained how Harley managed to stay so calm and collected. He almost never let Morgan out of his sight, always hovering, sometimes even growling whenever Pepper or Happy or Jim did something that he didn’t approve of. Harley hadn’t gotten over Tony’s death… he simply traded his grief for some kind of babysitting duty he thought he owed Tony.

Now, Morgan wasn’t complaining about Harley’s brotherly affection at all, because he definitely appreciated it. But the more he care for the older boy, the more he worried for him and his unhealthy coping mechanism. As much as he wanted to be there for Harley, being a security blanket 24/7 for the next who knew how many years didn’t sound too good either.

Or maybe it was just him being maudlin. Tension was running high, and everyone was grieving. Morgan knew it wasn’t fair of him to expect all of them to just bounce back like nothing was wrong, but having to constantly play the diplomat also took its toll on him. He might be the only one to get some kind of closure, but he was also still going through his own mourning. Morgan wondered if he should’ve just told them all the gory details right from the start. That way, at least they would have a target for their anger.

But he’d held on, keeping himself close lipped until today.

The funeral was incredibly short and almost ironically sweet. Only Jim, Pepper, Happy, and Harley accompanied him in the empty cemetery. The bots and F.R.I.D.A.Y. watched through his eyes back at the tower. After all the crying, none of them said anything as a pair of Iron Man armors carried the casket into Stark Family’s burial vault. No words were said, No goodbyes exchanged. This, at least, they agreed on. If Tony couldn’t get an all out party for his funeral, then at least they won’t make it any more somber than it should.

Morgan himself had made sure that Pepper’s threat to the press was followed. He worked together with his sister to hack and disable all recording devices in a 3 miles radius, and made sure that all coordination efforts from the press and paparazzi were intercepted. Tony had had his life and privacy invaded for most of his life, and this final moment of complete anonymity was all that he could offer his dad in return. Those parasites had been indulged for far too long, but it was time for them to stop and start respecting people’s privacy for a change.

Once Tony’s casket had been put in place, Morgan commanded one armor to disassemble and wait inside the chamber, forever guarding the remains that laid there. The other one worked quickly to seal the vault, and immediately stood guard like a silent, red and gold gargoyle.

For a long time, none of them said anything. They just sat there, lost in their own minds until Jim broke the silence. “Well, that’s done.”

“It’s done,” he parroted back.

“We should probably head back.”

Morgan didn’t say anything.

Pepper held a shaky hand against his shoulder. “C’mon, Morgan. We can visit again sometime.”

“Yeah. C’mon, my sister and mom would want to meet you too, Morge,” Harley said quietly, holding his hand in a silent sympathy as he did.

He hesitated just a little bit longer, until F.R.I.D.A.Y., bless her code, pointed his attention to Spider-Man’s mission log.

_ Peter? _

“I have somewhere to be,” he blurted out suddenly.

Harley scrunched his eyebrows worriedly. “Where? I’m － ”

“I’m gonna be okay alone for a little bit, Harl… really,” he tried to placate his makeshift brother.

“But….”

“Harley’s right, kid. I know you can take care of yourself, but the city’s not exactly the friendliest to small children to wander around alone in right now,” Happy cut in gruffly.

“Please, guys… just for an hour or two. F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s gonna stay with me the whole time, too… please?” he gave them his best puppy-dog eyes.

None of his friends looked too thrilled about letting him wander around alone, but they must’ve seen the desperation in his face, because one by one, they relented and walked to the car by themselves. Harley, unsurprisingly, lingered the longest.

“Mo….”

“I’ll be fine, Har. Won’t take too long, I swear,” he said to the older teen, hugging him.

Morgan felt Harley’s answering embrace. “Okay, fine. Be careful out there, okay?”

“Got it, Bro. See ya.” With a final wave, he ran over to where F.R.I.D.A.Y. had sent the repulsor boots and gauntlets, fitted for his size, and took to the sky.

He wasn’t dressed for high-altitude flight, but the streets were surprisingly clear of rioting mob. “Spider-Man’s been busy?” he asked out loud.

_ “Must be. His trace log certainly does look like a patrol.” _

“Track his location.”

_ “Here you go,” _  F.R.I.D.A.Y. displayed a map with blinking Spidey face in his mind. It wasn’t too far, definitely still on the quiet side of the city.

“What do you say we give him a visit?”

_ “Well, you could use the distraction.” _

“And a time away from the Tower… don’t tell anyone!”

F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s response came as a digital sigh.  _ “They are just grieving, you know…. Give them time, they’ll come around.” _

“I know, I know…. But can you blame me for getting a bit tired of it all, though?”

_ “No, I suppose not. Approaching target. I think he heard you, though.” _

“So much for a surprise. Oh well, let’s check on him anyway.” 

When the news hit the internet, at first he thought it was just a hoax of some kind. A cruel rumor spread by Mr. Stark’s haters just to discredit him. It wouldn’t be the first time that something like that happened. But when Ms. Potts confirmed Mr. Stark’s death… not even him could afford to stay in denial anymore.

It was all his fault.

No cause of death had been released, but Peter knew better. He knew, somehow, that Captain America and Winter Soldier killed Mr. Stark. Because Peter Parker couldn’t do the one thing Mr. Stark brought him to Germany for properly.

Aunt May had been trying to reach out to him afterward. She knew just how much Mr. Stark’s works had inspired and influenced him over the years. but a murderer, even by negligence, deserved no such comfort. Peter did not deserve to even call himself Spider-Man if his first act as a hero, the first legit one, was killing the man that he had look up to since he was in elementary school.

So he patched the spider logo in front of his costume, put it on, and swung out to the streets of Manhattan. Ms. Potts said that the funeral was off-limits for everyone uninvited, but she didn’t say anything about him helping them keeping out anyone else from the funeral.

He swept across the city, pointedly ignoring the chaos that had broken in Queens. As long as no one tried to ram a car into the sidewalk, he didn’t have the energy left to care. He’s no hero after all, just a masked teenager with mutated gene, trying to do one right thing for the true Hero of the Earth.

He arrived just in time to see Mr. Stark’s casket being closed by his son, Morgan. A sharp stab of guilt made him double over as he took in yet another consequence of his major fuck up.

He made a boy an orphan. Or two, even, if the older teen hovering protectively behind Morgan was his brother. He certainly acted like one. Morgan would never meet his father again… and it’s all Peter’s fault.

He sensed, rather than see, that he was being noticed, so he flitted away to give them the privacy. He swung around, occasionally webbing up stray mobs that got too close for comfort. The task got repetitive pretty soon, but he welcomed the distraction. Anything that could take his mind away from the way Morgan’s small shoulders stood rigid and unmoving, the way his eyes were both empty and hardened.

That very second, Peter swore that he would do anything in his power to make up for his mistake. Anything that he could do to make Morgan’s life a little more bearable, he’d do it in a heartbeat… he owed both Mr. Stark and his son(s?) that much.

With renewed vigor, he webbed himself around faster. Patrol was the least he could do now, but it was also the only thing that he could give Mr. Stark and his family. He’d be damned if he didn’t do it right.

Suddenly, a familiar high-pitched whine, quieter but still recognizable, filled his hearing, and he looked up almost involuntarily. In the distance, he saw a figure, clad in black suit, flying towards him. Peter didn’t need enhanced senses to know that it was Morgan. He continued looking up anyway, watching, transfixed as Morgan descended much more gracefully than he did last time.

He was wearing all black - as one should during a funeral, his hair was brushed to a coif, and his hands and feet was covered with jet black Iron Man gauntlets and boots that looked like they were fitted just for him. Morgan looked 100% the heir of Tony Stark that he was at that moment.

For a moment, they just stared at each other in silence, but when they spoke, they overlapped each other.

“I’m Sorry － ” Peter began.

“Thank you,” Morgan spoke at the same time.

They blinked at each other, opening and closing their mouths repeatedly to give each other the first chance to speak. Finally, Morgan caved. “What are you apologizing for?” he asked, genuinely looking confused.

“I… － this is all my fault, Morgan… I’m so sorry. If only I － ”

“Wait, wait, hold up. What are you talking about, Peter?”

“You father,” Peter said miserably. “It’s my fault that he’s… that you… － ”

Morgan’s eyes went wide with realization, and immediately softened as Peter’s throat closed in around itself. “Oh, Peter…” Morgan whispered sadly, moving in and wrapped him in a tight hug.

Peter’s walls were crumbling down. His arms moved automatically to hug the shorter teen back, only to flinch back down in an instant. In response, Morgan tightened his hug even more, and whispered to his chest, “It’s not your fault, Peter.”

The dam broke, and Peter cried. He buried his face into Morgan’s surprisingly soft hair, feeling grateful for the mask that stopped his snot and tears from getting to Morgan. But the other boy just kept on holding all his broken parts together, rubbing circles on his back, murmuring assurance that Peter wasn’t the one that cost him his Father.

It all just made him cry even harder.

He didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve Morgan ever forgiving him, much less showing him this much kindness and compassion. Him insisting that Peter wasn’t at fault only affirmed his suspicion: Captain America murdered Tony Stark, and Peter was the one who failed to catch him when he had the chance.

“If only I did my job properly….”

Morgan shook his head desperately. “No! It’s not your fault! You did your best, and － ”

“I didn’t!” he wailed. “I joked around! I thought it was all so cool that I got to fight with the Avengers…. Oh my god, Morgan… I’m so,  _ so  _ sorry!”

Morgan pulled back, and for a split second, Peter mourned the loss of contact. But before he could scold himself for even thinking that way, Morgan gripped his shoulders, and, somehow, managed to shook him hard, cutting him off. “No!” he yelled. “You listen to me, Parker. The fact that it turned into a fight at all was already not in the plan! Dad brought you in as a deterrent, not a fighter. Don’t you dare take the blame from Rogers. He killed my dad, you didn’t.”

“I… I don’t － ”

“Please, Peter...” Morgan pleaded, looking up directly into his eyes, “my dad wouldn’t want you to blame yourself like this.”

Again, he was wrapped in Morgan’s arms. This time, he let himself melt into the the touch, allowing his body to tremble and shake the way in wanted to. Morgan resumed his back rubbing, but stayed silent.

Minutes later, they parted once more. Peter took a deep breath, and took his mask off, not wanting to hide away from Morgan anymore. “Thank you, Morgan,” he mumbled. “You don’t owe me that, and yet….”

Morgan shook his head with a smile. “It’s OK. My dad shouldn’t have brought a minor into battle in the first place, so… I guess this is for him.”

Peter felt his face falling down. “So it’s true, then? Captain America… really did that?”

The other boy nodded grimly. “Yeah. Yeah, he did.”

Peter studied him. Morgan didn’t look… overly angry at the mention of his father’s killer. If anything, he looked almost… subdued. 

_ Which means…. _

“You know where he is,” Peter breathed in surprise.

Morgan looked down at his jet boots, biting his lips.

“Where is he??”

“Peter….”

“No, Morgan. Where. Is. He??”

“You can’t go after them,” the boy said, voice full of heartbreaking resignation.

A fresh wave of anger rushed through him at Morgan’s meek tone. “Why?! He can’t just get away with murder!”

“I know!” Morgan hissed. “But Earth also needs some kind of defense, and until someone came up with a better solution, they are the best we’ve got!”

Peter gaped. “So, what?? Just because they punched aliens that one time, they get to get a free pass from  _ murder _ ?! What kind of logic is that?!”

“Not one time, Peter,” Morgan sighed. “It will happen again. Sooner or later, Earth will face another invasion.”

Peter paused. “Do you say that as in “if it happened once, then it can happen again,” or….”

“I say that in “my father had been working on this his whole life, and now it’s up to me to make sure all those hard work doesn’t go up in flame” kind of way.”

“Oh,” Peter said, frowning.

“Yeah. Don’t worry, though. They might sidestep court and prison, but they won’t get any “free pass”, as you say,” Morgan said with a forced smile. Peter simply nodded glumly in answer.

For the third time, they fell into an awkward silence. “Well… that’s good,” Peter hedged. “Is there… anything I can help you with?”

“You already did, Peter. Seriously, thank you for this,” Morgan said, gesturing to their general vicinity. “Thank you for caring. And for being a distraction.” The boy’s smile brightened just a little bit, but Peter took it as a victory.

“Distraction?”

“Yeah… people back at the tower were a little… stressed. I need to get away for a while, you know?”

Peter winced in sympathy. “Yeah, that… that happens.”

Morgan eyed him speculatively. “You’ve been through this, have you?” he asked.

Peter hesitated. It’s not like he’s been keeping his background a secret or something. He just preferred to keep the details to himself unless absolutely necessary. But something about this moment felt just right to him. Morgan wasn’t prying, and if Peter had refused to say anything, no doubt he wouldn’t have minded at all.

And yet the prospect of opening up to Morgan was… not unpleasant.

“Yeah, twice before,” he admitted. “When I was about 4… my parents got in an airplane accident. It was an empty casket funeral.” Morgan reached out to his shoulder, and Peter smiled gratefully. “I lived with my Uncle Ben and Aunt May since then… well, until 6 months ago, that is.”

His eyes began to water again, and Morgan squeezed his shoulder. “Hey, Peter… I get it, you don’t have to － ”

“No, I’m OK…. I can’t keep running away like this.” He took a deep breath and spoke again, “My Uncle was mugged. It was the day I got my powers, and… well, I was scared, confused. We fought, I can’t even remember why anymore, and then I ran from our apartment. He chased after me, but… well, you can guess the rest.”

Peter couldn’t see past his blurry sight, but he could imagine how Morgan’s face must’ve looked like judging by the guilt in his voice. “I’m so sorry, Peter. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“It’s OK. I’m kinda happy to find someone I can relate with, actually.”

“Yeah, I know… Thank you, Peter.”

“Anytime, Morgan.”

Morgan opened his mouth, but an Irish sounding voice rang from his suit’s pocket. “Sir, if I may. Ms. Potts is asking for you. I believe she, and the others, were waiting for the whole story before we do a press conference.”

Morgan sighed. “Well, that’s my cue. It’s been fun, though.… Can we, uh, you know…?”

Peter smiled at him. “Yeah, of course. Here, give me your phone and I’ll give you my number… um… if you want?”

Morgan just handed him his phone with a held-back smirk.

“Uh… yeah. There’s that,” Peter said after he gave the phone back, hoping his cheeks weren’t burning too brightly.

“I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah! Yeah, of course…. See you, Morgan.”

“See you, Peter.”

Morgan shot up into the sky, leaving Peter to wonder why he suddenly felt so alone now that he’s gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kinda want to play around with the Kübler-Ross model, but with a twist, you know? Since there are 5 characters, I divvy up the stages, one for each character, discounting Morgan, since he's already in acceptance since previous chapters' events. Pepper got denial, Happy got anger, Harley got bargaining, and Rhodey got depression. I think I nailed them... except for Harley. In earlier drafts, I made him an integral ally of Morgan and F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s, but decided against it because I wanna focus on Morgan and Peter instead.
> 
> But that draft had about 1000 words worth of Harley being a big brother, and I don't wanna cut *all* of them. So I hand-picked a paragraph or two, mainly from his and Morgan's first meeting, and hand-waved them into this monstrosity. which made the bargaining part seems more like denial than anything else.
> 
> What can I say, tho? I'm a sucker for Harley being a good bro, and since he's already the younger one in my other story, I wanna play around and make him the overprotective older brother in this one. Also, I might or might not be smitten by Ty Simpkins' scruffy chin from his instagram story the other day, so there's that.
> 
> I'm thirsty, sue me. That boy got hot. Good thing I already wrote this with him being older than Morgan on mind instead of younger one like I did in Never Too Late, because this Harley's gonna be ruff, tuff, and ready to make you count your teeth if you mess with his new teddy bear.
> 
> In all seriousness, though, I'm still not sure about how to proceed with the plot. Should I make it crack-y? More angsty? I'm leaning towards Morgan trolling everyone home alone style, because little kids setting up traps for adults is such a *classic*. But on the other hand, I still don't have plan on how to reconcile the crack with all this angst. I could go the serious, detailed smack down like I did with Never Too Late, but this story was supposed to be the lighter one.
> 
> IDK, I guess you'll find out after another inevitable hiatus.
> 
> C'ya!


End file.
